An Encounter
by jaded79
Summary: Is it a fanfic no-no to say "this is stupid" in a summary? Probably. Not sure where this came from but I wanted to post it. It's completely AU and pre-zombie apocalypse. Think Carol and Daryl with a past.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - I have no idea what this is. It just sort of happened and I figured - gee, why not - I'd post it. It's total AU, but in my head I have this idea that maybe Daryl and Carol have a history before they meet on TWD and this would be a part of that history. Anyway, hope you like!**

**Disclaimer - The crazy stupidity of this AU one shot is all mine, but Carol and Daryl remain the property of TWD. **

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She fidgets as she waits. The pad of her right pointer finger glides back and forth across the sharp nail on her thumb. She's counting out the list in her head. There are ten things she absolutely must accomplish today. First, she must make a deposit for her boss at the bank. $2,000.00 into the escrow account. That's where she stands waiting. The bank. It's early yet. It won't open for 15 minutes. She's always early. It can be really annoying sometimes, but especially today when she has nine more things to do after this one.

First, the bank. Second, the town hall. Third, the house. Fourth... she's in the middle of ticking down her list when someone pushes through the revolving door at the entrance to the building. Soft footsteps echo off the tile floor and the intruder comes to stand a few feet from her at the plexiglass barrier that holds them both at bay until the bank opens.

She glances up from where her gaze had been fixed blankly. It is a man. He wears a black cap. It is boxy and the rim is shortened. She let's her gaze linger on his profile for just a moment. Then her eyes travel across broad shoulders as he turns away from her. His shirt is black and it spans the expanse of his back to frame defined muscles that taper into a toned waist. He wears jeans and it is here that she catches a glimpse of one arm.

It is the tattoo there that clues her in. It is a heart on his right wrist, small and easy enough to overlook but she sees it and dimly she realizes that she knows the man. He turns so that he's facing her, but his eyes are downcast, locked on his wallet as he opens it and peers inside. It doesn't matter. There's no way she wouldn't recognize him.

She panics slightly, considers turning away from where she's been standing and retreating to the cafe inside the building. The bank will open in 15 - no, 10 minutes now. She could go and get a cup of coffee and wait inside the cafe safely ensconced from having to make niceties with this man that she hasn't seen in eight long, but perhaps not long enough, years. He hasn't seen her. He hasn't paid her a lick of attention. He won't know it's her if she leaves now. He won't be insulted if he doesn't know it's her.

But she's thirty. She's an adult. She's not some frivolous child who can just run away from this. And what does it matter anyway. It's been eight years. The problem with him was never really hers to begin with and there's no reason she can't be pleasant.

"Daryl," she says softly, an acknowledgment, and he looks up, his eyes meet hers and surprise passes over his features before he bestows upon her a small smile.

For eight years she hadn't known him, hadn't spoken to him, hadn't actually even given him much thought. And as the notion hits her, she realizes that perhaps she wanted to run because she was worried that he would in fact hate her. Hate her for the way she exorcised him from her life all those years ago. Her reasons were justified, she knew that. But she could never truly know if he could know that as well. And it appears he does.

"Hey Carol," he mutters, the ghost of a smile still on his lips.

She catches the flicker of his eyes as they look her up and down, lingering in places that probably shouldn't be lingered on. She's conscious of the fact that she no longer looks as she did eight years ago. Her hips are wider, her waistline thicker – childbirth will do that to a woman. The years haven't been as kind as they should have been. She often thinks that she's ugly compared to how she looked before. His appraisal doesn't show his thoughts, his impression of this new her; but when his eyes lock on hers again she feels a tingle in the pit of her stomach. It's residual, this feeling, it must be. Something residual from a friendship, nay, a relationship born and died so long ago. It isn't her reality now. He hasn't been her reality in quite some time.

She asks how his father is. He is well. She knows this, but asks anyway because she's at a loss for what to say. She asks how his brother is as well. She smiles fondly thinking of Merle who had always liked her and who had once told her that Daryl was a fool to break things off with her.

He asks how her parents are. They are well also, and she's sure he knows this as well and only asks to reciprocate. He glances away from her as someone from the other side of the barrier comes to stand at the plexiglass, key in hand, ready to relinquish the barrier that keeps them from their desired task of banking.

He asks about her daughter as they enter the bank, moving towards the "Line Starts Here" sign, and she wonders briefly how he even knows that she has a daughter. She's six now, her little Sophia.

"So are you still married?," he questions, or something of the sort.

Her head is swimming as he asks because she's just approached the counter and handed the deposit slip to the teller. She glances back at him, a smile on her face and says, "Oh yea, of course."

His smile seems forced... although maybe not. It could just as easily be her own smile reflected in his.

The thought lingers in her mind for a moment, but she doesn't have time to form an answer before the teller hands her back her receipt for the deposit. And she's done. Her banking task accomplished, and she moves almost automatically out of the way.

"Well, have a great day," she says to him, smiling as she retreats. He says something of the same to her in response and she's moving mechanically to the door, her mind still racing, her heart suddenly in her throat. The heat of the day smacks her in the face as she steps outside, and she knows she should hurry along. She has nine other tasks to get done before work. Nine more places to go. She doesn't have time to dawdle. Yet she stops a moment and looks out across the buildings courtyard to the motorcycle that's parked at the curb. It isn't a motorcycle that she knows, but she knows it is his. He rode a different motorcycle when she knew him last, much different from this one, but still somehow the look of it is familiar. It's him through and through. And somehow even after all these years, she'll always know him when she sees him.

The breeze of the door moving behind her and she knows it's him as someone steps out. A chill travels her spine and she could swear she has goosebumps in the heat.

"Still here?," he says, his voice bordering on hesitant and she turns to look at him.

The words spring forth from her mouth without thought, "did you want to go somewhere and get some coffee with me?"

Warning bells should go off in her head, but they don't. A flashing neon sign should display before her eyes, but she sees nothing except the cool blue of his eyes looking into hers.

She knows this. The fact of it is ever present in her mind. She's still with the same man she's been with for nearly nine years now. The same man who hates Daryl with every fiber of his being. The same man who demanded that Daryl be removed from all walks of her life. Demanded is too strong of a word. Requested is too light. Her husband is a… the words "decent man" come to mind, although she wonders if Ed is the same man he was back then, eight years ago. Things aren't as they were anymore, things are different now. Back then, Ed _was_ a decent man, but he'd lacked reason when it came to Daryl, when it came to her ex.

The thought of Daryl as her ex makes her smile slightly; the corners of her mouth turn up wryly. She can think of Daryl as a lot of different things, but an ex just feels incomplete.

"Sure," he says and she nods before angling her chin at the entrance to the cafe, the set of doors that match the ones they now stand before, doors that open up into coffee shop tucked in the corner of the building that houses the bank on the first floor, and countless other offices on all the rest.

As she orders, she knows that she shouldn't be here. This has trouble written all over it, and she feels the forbiddenness of it in her chest. But the history between them keeps her grounded, soothes her churning stomach as she requests extra honey in her tea. He gives her a glance as she orders and she wonders if he finds it odd that she's asked him for coffee but has ordered tea.

As he orders, thoughts of the past consume her mind.

She was twenty - naïve and innocent - and he was nineteen – hotheaded and unpredictable. She doesn't remember not knowing him in one regard or another. He was her father's best friend's son, and a friend of her father's now. They dated briefly. He was her first boyfriend, the first boy to show any interest. Ed was the second, the last. Maybe the whole affair with Daryl lasted a month. He ended it, but almost reluctantly. She remembers the day in the sandwich shop when she'd just known that something wasn't right. She'd pushed just enough and he'd told her. He wanted to slow it down. Things were moving too fast. They'd still be friends. They weren't still friends. Not that she wouldn't have wanted to be, but somehow it didn't shake down that way. They went out just once after that day, as friends, and then she heard nothing of him for over a year. Time passed. She met Ed who would become her husband. She was happy, and she forgot about Daryl. Or at least, if she didn't forget, her memories of him faded into something old and worn and easily shelved and ignored.

She'd been with her husband-then-boyfriend for a year when she saw Daryl next. The last time she saw Daryl actually. It was a party that her parent's threw every year. All of their friends were there, and some of hers as well. Daryl spent the evening getting wasted, sitting at the picnic table in a hate-filled glower, casting out curses and threats of havoc he wanted to wreak on Carol's boyfriend. His mouth ran as it did when he'd been drinking, and word of it made its way to Carol's friend's ear, and then eventually from her friend's mouth to Ed's ear. The night ended. Ed went home. Daryl, too wasted to leave, was forced to stay on her parent's couch downstairs while her friend and she shared her bedroom upstairs.

She spoke to him only briefly, tiptoeing downstairs to see if he was still awake. He was. It was unremarkable really, the conversation. She commented on how he'd hurt her. On how happy she was now. She hardly even remembers what was said, just a general gist of it. And then she went back upstairs to bed.

He had sex with her friend that night, on her parent's deck, on a park bench that had been dragged up to the deck for the party. Which was amusing because Daryl and Carol actually had never gone so far as to have sex in their month long fledgling relationship the year before. There were other... activities... for sure, but things had ended before anything could escalate further between them. It was made more amusing by the fact that Carol knew, that before going to bed that night she'd given her friend the condom and sent her on her way. It didn't matter to her. She was happy. She wanted him to be happy too.

Ed didn't take kindly to the fact that Daryl stayed overnight at her parent's. In fact, the whole matter blew up into proportions that might have never been recovered from. She almost lost the boyfriend, but in the end it was Daryl that was lost.

She numbly takes the cup of tea from the woman behind the counter and turns to him. He looks at her expectantly and then motions to an empty table in the corner. She nods, and follows him to the table, slides herself into a seat across from his and lets the cup rest on the table.

"So...," he says, and she detects a flicker of nervousness in his tone.

"I shouldn't be here," she blurts out.

He laughs. She doesn't know what she expected, but laughter wasn't it.

"I wondered if he still hated me," he says, his expression suddenly earnest.

She smiles because really, what else can she do? "Oh yes, he certainly does that," she speaks plainly.

"Even after all these years? What has it been..."

"Eight years," she offers, and he takes a sip from his cup, nodding at the thought of it.

He puts down the cup and gazes at her a moment. "And you... do you still hate me?"

"I never hated you," she says, shaking her head, "I just did what I had to do."

"Oh," he utters thoughtfully, "I didn't... I mean, I knew that, but I thought that you... uh... that maybe you hated me as well."

She tilts her head and stares at him a moment before speaking. Her lips curl up hesitantly as she says, "I could never hate you, Daryl. You were my first love."

The words aren't meant to hurt him, but a look not entirely unlike that of a kicked puppy crosses his face quickly before he replaces it with a more bland guise. The words are true though, and it surprises her how easy they were to say given the fact that she never gave them much thought before now.

"I actually kind of figured you would hate me," she continues softly before he can speak. He looks down at his cup and then back at her again.

"I could never hate you, Carol." The words linger there a moment between them, the weighted silence of what he probably wanted to say as well but dared not, the end of the words that so closely mirrored her own.

She wasn't his first love. She couldn't have been, but she let the thrill of those maybe-words live in her head just a moment before dismissing them. She would have wanted to be. She would have wanted to be his first love all those years ago. She would have wanted to be a lot of things. All of which she would never actually be.

She picks up her cup and takes a delicate sip. The tea is nearly cold, having sat there untouched for so many minutes. As she places the cup down again, her eyes catch on her watch and she sees they've been there for nearly twenty minutes. They've hardly spoken but somehow twenty minutes have ticked by unbeknownst to them.

"I have to go," she says, the words reluctant even though she knows that they shouldn't be.

"Me too," he agrees and the chairs scrape against the floor as they both stand up to leave. He lets her exit first, and then they are back in the heat outside again. She turns to look at him one last time, letting her eyes linger on his face because she wants to remember this moment, she wants to remember the way his eyes caught with hers, and the simple ease of it. He's leaning forward and before she can think better of it, she does as well and they are hugging. It is a tight hug, one of his arms just below her shoulder and the other around her waist. She squeezes him back and enjoys the small excitement of being caught in his arms before he releases her. The scent of him - cigarettes and coffee - stays with her a moment after she steps back to stand separate from him.

"It was really nice seeing you," he says, his eyes averting suddenly. There is a shyness to him that counters the boldness that she remembers from all those years ago.

"It was," she says, and she ducks her head slightly causing him to look back at her and their eyes to catch one last time. She smiles because there's nothing left to do, nothing left to say, and then nods as she steps away from him, nodding a second time then with a resolute look on her face before she turns and hastens down the street putting distance between them. She doesn't look back but she feels his eyes watching her as she retreats, as she hurries on her way back to her life, her real life, with a husband, a daughter, and a job, and still nine more things to accomplish before she makes it to work today.

As she turns the corner at the end of the street towards the parking lot where her car awaits, she hears the motorcycle - his motorcycle - turn over as he starts it, rumbling loudly as he pushes off the curb and heads on his way in the opposite direction at the other end of the street. She reaches her car just as the rumble of the motorcycle engine begins to fade into a dull roar that echoes the thrum of her heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - This popped in to my brain and so here it is. Not sure if this makes the story a two-shot or if any other ideas might come to me, but hope you all like! Have a great day and thank you for reading and reviewing!**

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It was two years before he saw her again, another chance encounter in another meaningless place. Daryl only went into the bookstore to get a copy of the latest motorcycle magazine. He had a dentist appointment the next day, and he'd be damned if he was going to read GQ or whatever stupid shit the office had to offer in the way of reading materials. He went right to the magazine section, he knew where it was; he wasn't there to browse – he was never much of a browser at any store, let alone this one. But something made him walk down the main aisle, not even a walk, a saunter really, a pull that made him move in a direction that he didn't need to. It was out of the way, not near the registers at all, but he walked it anyway, his eyes sweeping the shelves that lined the aisle as if he was browsing, but none of the titles registered in his mind.

Carol was sitting on a cushy leather chair, a book in her lap, her eyes scanning the pages quickly – she was always a fast reader. He saw her from the back, but somehow knew it was her. It was there, in his gut, the feeling that it was her. Her hair was starting to gray, even though he knew she was only 32, only one year older than he was. It was close-cropped, and he absently wondered why she'd cut it, when she'd cut it. Two years ago it had been longer, nearly past her shoulders. She flipped the page and the sound seemed much louder to his ears in the quiet of the nearly empty bookstore.

Before he could move forward, a girl with straw blonde hair swept past him, practically skipping before skidding to a halt at the side of the chair that Carol sat in. Carol turned her head; his eyes traced the outline profile of her face. Carol smiled and the girl chattered although Daryl wasn't really listening and couldn't make out the words. He was too entranced by the moment, entranced by the bookstore and Carol and this little girl who was clearly her daughter Sophia.

Sophia left Carol as suddenly as she'd arrived, skipping forward lightheartedly into a section that was set up for kids by the looks of it. Daryl watched and then his legs were moving before he could overthink it, before he could talk himself out of it.

"Carol," he said, his words coming out a mere whisper. He might have thought them too soft for her to even hear, but her body stilled and that gave the recognition away. His heart thudded at the idea that she knew it was him without looking, at the idea that he could be that familiar, that she could feel him without knowing it. She turned slightly in the seat, the leather protesting softly from the movement and then she was smiling.

There were bags under her eyes as if she hadn't been sleeping, and he couldn't help but notice the redness in her eyes. Had she been crying? He longed to ask, but didn't. He hardly knew her, ten years absence and one chance meeting at a bank two years ago did not a friend make. He remembered fondly the day at the bank, the coffee shop afterward where she had ordered tea even though she'd asked him for coffee. He thought of that day often, as he did of her as well. They'd known each other so well once, and he'd loved her so much that he couldn't even handle it at the time. That's why he'd ended it. Too fast, too much, she had invaded his mind, his heart, and he'd been too scared to deal. It was easier to get out, to avoid her and seek meaningless relationships, sex and mockery and anything to dull the burning within his body. A part of him had hoped that she'd wait – until he grew up or grew a brain or something. Until he'd tired of the meaningless, until he'd hungered for the meaningful. No one could have been as meaningful as her, and no one ever was.

She was standing now, stepping forward and he hugged her almost automatically, as if their bodies were pulled into each other's embrace completely of their own accord. It was easy, simple, and the feel of her in his arms gave him butterflies in the pit of his stomach. A grown man with butterflies, oh how Merle would laugh at that. As they separated, Daryl's eyes strayed to her shirt sleeve which had slid up her arm to reveal a large purplish shape; she seemed to realize at the same time and she tugged it down to cover it in the next second, but not before he recognized the shape as a handprint.

He should have mentioned it, and he'd kick himself for not saying something for weeks afterward, but he couldn't bring himself to break the moment with a question about the bruise. She was smiling, laughing even, as he took the seat across from hers and they chatted, her book long forgotten. She asked aimless questions about him and his family, his life. She wasn't digging for information, merely inquiring. The conversation was so simple, so familiar; they didn't even have to think about it.

He asked about Sophia and Carol glanced over at the children's section where Sophia now sat in the middle of the floor flipping through a book. Carol bragged about her now eight year old daughter a bit, but it wasn't really boastful, just proud. He couldn't help the smile that crossed his face as she raved about her daughter. What else could he do when faced with Carol's beautiful, wistful smile as she spoke? Such love for her child stunned him. She stunned him.

He didn't ask about Ed. He didn't mention the bruise on her arm. And when she turned her head slightly at the sound of the ringing of the doorbell as someone entered the store, he didn't mention the dark green and yellow-tinged bruise on the back of her neck, just below her hairline.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, breaking the easy conversation, and she pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Daryl didn't miss the look that crossed her face. Hesitation bordering on fear. She squelched it as quickly as it had happened, glancing up at him, her face now stoic. She smiled but it was forced.

"I have to go," she said, then called out for her daughter, "Sophia! Time to go."

Daryl only nodded, his own sudden unsurety silencing him. He forced a smile as she stood, standing as well as Sophia joined them at her mother's side. The girl glanced at him, but didn't say anything, her eyes curious but her mouth stayed tight in a thin line. He noticed a faint bruise on the side of the girl's temple, but he pretended he didn't.

"It was nice to see you, Daryl," Carol said, and something in her tone told him she meant it. The butterflies were back, practically hornets now as he warred with himself internally about the whole business – seeing her, speaking to her, but not really speaking, not asking what truly mattered. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was more of the same – another platitude in place of what he really wanted to say.

"It really was."

She nodded, didn't step forward to hug him, only laced her fingers with Sophia's and gave him one final tight-lipped smile, her eyes seemed wet, and then she turned, bustling down the aisle at a hurried pace. He watched as they reached the door. Carol pulled it open for Sophia to slip through and then she glanced back at him, her lips pulled tightly together, a haunted look upon her face, and then she turned away, disappearing through the door and she was gone.

Daryl continued to feel the ache in his chest for weeks after, the regret at what he could have said, what he should have said.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - I'm enjoying writing this one more than I thought I would. Thank you so much for the reviews! They are really inspiring and they keep me going. Hope you like! **

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The death of Carol's grandmother was not a surprise so much as it was an arduous and agonizing inevitability. The woman who'd raised Carol since she was five years old, when her father had been put in jail and her mother had needed a "break", had suffered for almost six years through a hard-fought battle against Alzheimer's. There were periods of clarity in the beginning, but they became fewer and farther between as the years passed.

The call came in the middle of the night. "Shut that fucking thing off, stupid cunt," Ed had snapped viciously as she'd groped desperately for the ringing telephone on the nightstand. She'd hurried from the bedroom, putting the ringer on quiet as she tried to avoid the creaks in the floor. Once the bathroom door clicked shut behind her, she snapped the phone open and said hello with a whisper.

She'd known what it was about before she'd even answered, and still when the words came, the sweet caretaker's voice steady and controlled from across the line, Carol had frozen, her heart suddenly pounding frantically in her chest, her breath suddenly shallow. She was dead; her dear grandmother was dead, and Carol felt truly alone. When the call disconnected, Carol sank to the floor and sobbed, the palm of her hand squeezed against her mouth to stop any sound of her anguish from leaking out, any sound from disturbing Ed's sleep in the very next room. He wouldn't care why she was crying, he'd only care that he'd been woken.

She was still sporting bruises and half-healed gashes from the argument two weeks ago over the fact that she'd taken too long at the bookstore – "_spending my fucking money on books for your daughter, the fucking nerve of ya, bitch!"_ – and she didn't want to provoke him again. She couldn't endure it now. If he beat her right now, after this, after finding out that her only true ally in her family was dead, well she could almost want him to kill her. If he beat her now, she'd want to die, and Carol couldn't forgive herself if she ever left Sophia alone like that. If she did that to her daughter… it'd be the worst… the very worst thing she could ever do, and she was distraught enough this night to stop caring if he came for her, just distraught enough to say fuck it and let it happen. So she forced her sobs to be silent, and when her gasps became too loud for her hand to drown them out, she grabbed the hand towel from the sink and shoved a piece of it into her mouth, sobbing around it, any sound muffled and contained until she was finally able to breathe again, finally able to lie there in silence, her cheek resting against the cool tile floor.

She rolled over onto her back, letting her eyes stare unfocused at the ceiling, the water spot that was still browning above her head from the roof leak that Ed refused her the money to get fixed. She realized it was raining as she listened disjointedly to the sound of raindrops hitting the roof. She wondered if she lay here long enough how long it would take before those drops made their way to the hole in the roof shingles, plummeting down through the leak, through the empty space of the attic, plopping onto the wood that made up the bathroom ceiling and working their way through the spackle before making the final descent onto her forehead. She imagined the slight splatter of wetness as they hit her, the raindrops, as if not only she cried for the loss of her grandmother, but perhaps the whole world cried. Perhaps the heavens and angels and even her grandmother was crying, pouring down buckets of tears and all for Carol.

She breathed out, closing her eyes and thought of what would come next. The arrangements. It was a terrible turn of phrase and she hated it. Funeral director and casket and flowers. How would she pay for it? She could hear Ed now – _ain't coming outta my pocket… or it's coming outta your hide. _She squeezed her already closed eyes shut even harder and tried to stifle the sob that was in her throat. She swallowed it, the lump that protested the whole way down. The wake and funeral.

It didn't occur to her that her father and mother might pay. She hardly spoke to them, hadn't even once in the past six months. Her father reentered her life when she was sixteen, getting out on good behavior, and her mother had come back shortly after talking vaguely about travelling Europe and Asia with only a backpack and one bra. They were her family but they were at times more useless than she could bear.

It was Carol who had paid for her grandmother's caretaker, who scrounged up the money from her two jobs and hid it in a fake bible next to the bed – the one place Ed would never be caught dead looking.

She picked the phone up from where it sat on the floor beside her head, pulling herself up and forcing herself to sit like a normal person on the toilet lid instead of continuing to bawl and wriggle on the floor like a pathetic worm. She could do this. She was stronger than this, better than this. She would make her grandmother proud.

She looked at the phone, flipping it open and scrolling through her contacts until she found her parent's number. It was the right thing to do, she knew it was. She closed her eyes as the phone rang in her ear and steeled herself for the conversation to come.

Afterwards, she spent the night in the bathroom, not daring to go back into the bedroom and lie down in the bed. She didn't want to risk waking him, didn't want to risk the wrath. Just after dawn broke, she tiptoed out of the bathroom and down the stairs to get started on breakfast. Her heart was still shattered but at least it looked like everything could happen smoothly. Her father – her grandmother's son – would go and make the arrangements; all Carol would need to do is make sure to bring herself, Sophia, and Ed to the wake and funeral. Her mother even offered to purchase flowers on Carol's behalf for the casket so that Carol wouldn't need to spend any money. It went better than she'd thought.

As she stirred the eggs on the frying pan before her, scrambling them up like Sophia liked, a thought occurred to her, one that stilled her hand mid-stir. _There will be a wake… and a funeral… what if Daryl comes? _It wasn't an absurd thought although a part of her kind of wished it was. He was still friends with her father; he was a friend of the family. In fact, she knew at least a year ago he'd gone with her father to visit her grandmother, the caretaker had mentioned it and Carol had forgotten quickly after. It was only one of a handful of times that her father had even gone over the last six years, so it was worth mentioning but not really worth remembering.

The thought of seeing Daryl warms her slightly, but she dreads it at the same time. It's only been two weeks since she ran into him by chance at the bookstore, and the coffee shop was two whole years before that. Would he mention it? Would he say something in front of Ed? _Oh God, Ed?! He hates Daryl, there's no one he hates more. _She envisioned a fight in the middle of an elegant albeit outdated funeral home.

She heard footsteps coming down the stairs and realized Sophia had woken. Carol pushed the thoughts of the funeral, the wake, Ed, and Daryl all from her mind in favor of being there for her daughter.

The day of the funeral Carol pulled on a pretty multi-colored dark dress. It was her grandmother's favorite. In the weeks before she'd passed, Carol had worn it during visits at least twice and on both occasions – even though her grandmother couldn't remember Carol's name – she'd remarked on how beautiful Carol looked in it.

Ed was grumbling angrily under his breath as they entered the funeral home to say final goodbyes and wait for guests to arrive for the short service before everyone went off to the gravesite for burial. He was angry that Carol hadn't ironed his shirt. The man couldn't care a lick about wrinkles, half of the shirts he wore – and the very same ones like the one he wore now –during the week were stained and wrinkled and always came home smelling of beer and smoke and trashy perfume, but today he'd hit her for it, a punch to the side that Carol hadn't expected and now her ribs hurt almost as much as her heart. She kept her arm around Sophia who huddled close to her side and managed a slight smile as they came to stand before the coffin. Her grandmother looked peaceful, just like she had the night before during the wake.

Daryl hadn't come to the wake. Carol was both disappointed and relieved at that. She was sure he wouldn't come today, and even more confident when a little while later Daryl's father arrived with Merle for the funeral service. If Daryl were to come, he'd have come already with them. She let down her guard, relaxed slightly.

Thirty minutes passed and it was almost time for the service. Carol was standing at the back by the entrance, Sophia sitting on a chair reading the book that Carol had let her bring despite Ed's disagreement over it. Ed fidgeted agitatedly at Carol's side. He didn't want to be there. She could hear him grumbling about it. She ignored it as best she could, knowing that later she'd surely pay for it. At least she sported no bruises or cuts now. Her ribs still smarted, and there might be a broken one but that was an injury she could easily hide. Bruising and cuts on her face and arms were less easy, and she imagined that was why he'd been careful not to hit or grab her above her midsection over the week that passed from her grandmother's death and the day of the funeral.

She was looking around languidly, trying not to worry about being alone with Ed later, so she was caught unaware when suddenly she turned to look towards the entrance and there was Daryl striding through it. Their eyes met and she imagined she looked something like a deer caught in headlights. He was only one step away from them in only a second, Ed glancing up, and Daryl extending his hand to shake Ed's murmuring something about being sorry for your loss, Ed shaking it almost on autopilot before releasing it, and then Daryl was before her, pulling her into a hug naturally, repeating the sentiment he'd said to Ed quietly in her ear. He released her as quickly as he'd grasped her, moving down the aisle towards the casket and her parents without a word. She was left stone-still with shock from it before glancing over to see Ed's darkened and enraged face.

"Ed…," she started to say, but he silenced her.

"Later," he growled, and she sighed resignedly as he moved past her to take his seat. The funeral service was about to begin. It was going to be a long day, and – she was sure – an even longer night.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N - Thank you so much everyone for your wonderful reviews! I'm so glad you're enjoying this story. I hadn't actually planned to make it more than a couple chapters but your reviews have inspired me so I'm going to keep going. Hope you like!**

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Deciding to attend the funeral wasn't as much of a decision or an obligation to Daryl as it was an insatiable urge. He _had_ to go. The moment he heard that Carol's grandmother had passed, it became all he could think about, attending that funeral, seeing Carol one more time. And most of all, of finally getting a glimpse of Ed. Daryl was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He'd seen the bruises at the bookshop. He recognized the way Carol flinched when someone close to her moved abruptly, the wary way her eyes flickered around her surroundings, always on alert, always waiting for the next strike, the next blow. And even more than any of that, he knew her.

Even after all of these years, he still knew her. He knew the girl she had been, and he saw her still in the woman she was. Carol, his Carol, had always had a light inside of her that could make even the daylight seem dim. She could brighten up a room simply by entering it, and she could make men flustered simply with a smile. It had always been that way, even when she was a child and he'd developed a crush on her the first time they'd met. And she'd never seemed to be aware of it. She'd laugh off any comment that she was pretty or beautiful. She had been oblivious to the attention, to the affections of anyone, and that seemed to only increase her beauty – the humility, the sweet innocence that only served to make her more of a treasure. She was a diamond that didn't know it was a diamond… a pearl pretending it's a pebble… a ruby that thinks it's a cherry pit.

She was still that girl, that woman, but something inside of her was different. He hadn't noticed when they'd had coffee those couple years back, but he'd seen it at the bookstore. Something – someone – had changed her. She was still luminescent in her beauty, but she was muted, altered, broken in a way that both shattered and enraged him. Daryl hated himself for it. Blamed himself. He wasn't naïve enough to think _he_ could fix her, that he could even make such an attempt. He'd never believe himself worthy of her. Not even in his wildest of dreams. He'd wanted to think it, tried even when they were both so young and still wet behind the ears. He'd fooled himself about it, tried to convince himself that he could be what she needed, that she could be what he wanted to believe he could have, but in the end he'd tucked tail and run like a ridiculous, frightened child. Granted, he had been a ridiculous, frightened child. But he'd hurt her in his actions, she'd only admitted it once, and he knew if he ever asked about it now, she'd lie and say that it hadn't mattered. But he knew that he'd hurt her all those years ago, and a part of him would never forgive himself for it.

No, he'd never believe himself worthy of her. Not after everything. But the idea that he could save even a piece, even a portion of her, that he could help to ease the brokenness, help to mend her whole… it was what drove him to attend the funeral, it was what drives him as he enters the funeral home, it was what gave him the courage and calm to shake Ed's hand, to pull Carol into his arms, and to move determinedly down the aisle without letting himself glance back.

He pays too much attention to her as the priest does his thing at the pulpit beside the casket. He tries to make himself stop, to focus, and he's sure Merle, sitting beside him, is equally as aware of it as he is. But he can't stop. They're in the same row, but he sits in one column of seats and she sits in the other. Ed's hand is on her knee, but it's more possessive than comforting. The whites of his knuckles are showing, and Daryl wonders how tight his grip is, if it hurts, if it will cause yet another bruise. Carol doesn't seem to notice; she's crying, weeping silently, wiping the tears with the back of one hand, the other hand twined with Sophia's who sits at her side opposite Ed.

Merle jabs him in the side with his elbow roughly and Daryl realizes he'd turned his head, that he was almost openly staring, he turns to face the priest and the casket again, but quickly glances back and meets Sophia's eyes. The girl looks pale, her eyes shiny, but her lips turn up as their eyes meet and she smiles just slightly. Her face almost looks haunted, as if she's beseeching him to do something. _Save us, save my mom_, he imagines she is asking, _help me, help her, help us_. He turns away a moment before she does, unable to keep the contact without breaking down himself. He feels helpless, worse than helpless, he feels useless. He can't even save himself, help himself, how can he hope to help Carol? How can he hope to help her little girl?

The service ends and the rows on his side start filing out, breezing past the casket for one last goodbye. He lingers at the door even though he knows he should follow Merle outside. He watches as Carol and her family step to the casket. He sees her knees buckle slightly as she says her final goodbye. Sophia's shoulders are slumped; even from the back the girl looks sad as she stands next to her mother. Ed isn't looking at the casket, he seems oblivious and ignorant to his wife's grief, and then he tugs at her arm harshly – too harshly – and Carol moves dutifully to follow him as they leave. Daryl moves away from the doorway before anyone notices that he'd been watching.

The reception is held at a nice restaurant, their tables are in what they call the Garden Room. It has a greenhouse effect, with lots of sunlight streaming in from a roof built of window panes. It's actually lovely, with a fountain in the center, and plants strategically placed throughout, but Daryl doesn't seem to notice any of it. He's too intent on watching her, on watching them. Carol is despondent but hiding it as she sits at a table sandwiched between Ed and her mother. Sophia is at a children's table and Daryl notices that she glances alternately at her mother and at him.

He looks down at his watch. He's finished eating, there really isn't anything left that he needs to do other than say goodbye and leave. He sighs. He doesn't know what he intended to do here today. Was this all just to see her? To reassure himself that she's okay? He's not reassured at all. If anything, he just feels more worried. His chest feels constricted with it, with the helplessness of it. Carol is hurting, broken, in despair over the loss of her grandmother, and seemingly trapped in a marriage with a man who doesn't even seem to care. _He hits her_, the words echo in Daryl's mind even though he doesn't know it for certain. He's only seen bruises that look like he might have grabbed her too hard, nothing that screams of something worse, something with more intent and rage behind it. Not that it matters. No one should touch her in such a way that it would leave a bruise… that brings another thought to his mind, the picture in his head shamelessly smutty, but he pushes it away. He's staring again and Merle clears his throat from the seat beside him.

"Make it less obvious, ay Darylina," Merle mutters, his voice teasing.

Daryl scowls, turns his gaze from Carol and looks at his brother slightly sheepishly. "I'm just lookin'," he mutters petulantly.

Merle smiles a bit sadly. "No one would blame you," he says softly, "it's a crime what he's done to her."

Daryl's eyes seem to darken with Merle's words. "And what's that…?"

Merle shrugs, take a chug of his drink before putting it down and pursing his lips with thought. "Don't know for sure, baby brother, but it's pretty obvious he ain't doin' right by her, don't ya think?"

"And we just do nothing?"

Merle shakes his head sadly, glances away from Daryl and says, "Not our place now, is it." It's not a question although Daryl thinks it should be.

He emits a low growl from the back of his throat in response, it's full of frustration and his palms itch with anger. He pushes back his seat abruptly and he's breezing out of the room in a huff before Merle can even say anything. He's a failure and the weight of it is killing him. Nothing he _can_ do or nothing he _will_ do, Daryl can't separate the two in his mind. He needs to step away, he needs to leave, but he can't make himself say his goodbyes yet. He goes down the stairs to the lower level where the bathroom is instead. He needs to pull himself together, then he can smile and say goodbye and walk away. He's good at walking away, he's done it enough. He stares at himself hollowly in the mirror after washing his hands, his palms gripping the edge of the sink. He shakes his head and leaves.

As he steps out into the tiny alcove at the bottom of the stairs where the two bathrooms are, his heart almost stops as their eyes meet. Carol is standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning back against the wall. She almost looks casual, but he knows better.

She pushes off the wall and steps towards him, opens her lips as if to speak but he silences her with his mouth suddenly upon hers. She freezes, her body going stiff, and he has the forethought to start to pull back but before he can separate himself from her, her lips turn pliant and yielding beneath his as she starts to kiss him back. A chill does down his spine as her fingers lace into his hair at the back of his neck. She mewls slightly as he kisses her harder, his tongue slipping into her mouth fighting for dominance with hers. Suddenly, one of her hands is on his chest, her palm warm even through his shirt. She pushes him backward, separating them abruptly and they are both left breathless staring wide-eyed at each other. Carol's eyes shine for just a moment as they hold his gaze and then she spins on her heel and rushes through the door to the women's bathroom without a word. Daryl pants watching her go and tries to still the rapid beat of his racing heart.

He waits a half hour more in the Garden Room, watching people sit and chatter as they pick at mostly empty plates, but Carol doesn't return. Eventually, he gets up, says his goodbyes to Carol's parents, shakes Ed's hand with a firm grip and a cold stare, smiles at Sophia with a nod, and finally he leaves.


	5. Chapter 5

It's guilt and fear and stupidity that make her stay. And obligation. The worst of it is obligation. She married him. She is his, whether she wants to be or not. A part of her knows that's not true, but a larger part won't listen. She tried to leave six months after her grandmother died. It earned her a ten day hospital stay where she repeatedly told the nurses that she had fallen off of a horse. She didn't dare speak the truth knowing that Ed was alone at home with Sophia.

Two years have gone by since her grandmother passed. Sophia is nearly eleven now, burgeoning on the little lady she will blossom into someday. Carol's only job at this point in her life is to make sure Sophia becomes all she can be, make sure that Sophia's dreams come true as much as they can, and make sure that Sophia is forever safe. So Carol remains Ed's punching bag, she stays, because the fear that if she leaves he will hunt her down and kill their daughter remains ever present. He told her this, standing over her battered and crumpled broken body that day she had once tried to leave, that he wouldn't kill Carol, but he'd kill Sophia and he'd make her watch – tape her eyes open if he had to. And she believes him, she knows it as fact. They are possessions, his to do what he pleases, and Carol will accept that as long as he doesn't hurt Sophia.

He won't, he murmurs every night after he achieves release into Carol's complicit and resigned body – _be a good girl_, he says, _and_ _I won't hurt her._ As long as Carol plays by the rules, as long as she does what he wants, as long as he's satisfied at every whim, he will never touch Sophia, we will never hurt her. It's a trade with the devil that Carol will not regret. Sophia is safe and that is all that matters.

She lets her mind wander during those nights; her body stays limp and impassive while her mind drifts off as she stares at the ceiling above her and Ed. She thinks of that day, the day of the funeral, and Daryl and the kiss. The warmth of his lips upon hers, the electricity of wanton desire uncoiling in her gut, the guilt of breaking her wedding vows – a kiss is as much cheating as any other act – of wanting to break her vows even beyond that. He could have taken her there on the carpet and she'd have wanted it more than she wanted anything else in that moment. It had taken every ounce of willpower and strength for her to push him away, for her to break the kiss and run. Every ounce of willpower not to leave that bathroom straight away, to find Sophia, and go to him, to leave Ed confident that Daryl would keep them safe. But she hadn't, she had stayed in the bathroom stall, huddled on the toilet seat, shaking, and practically sobbing even though her eyes were long dry of tears. Fear and guilt, stupidity and obligation. They were terrible things, this quartet that kept her chained to a life that consumed and drained her.

She believes it her own fault. She should have been strong enough, done more; there are mistakes aplenty that Carol wishes she could redo at times. She had once thought she was strong enough, but nothing shakes a woman's ideals like the cold hard truth of life.

And still, somehow, miraculously, she can't really find it in her heart to regret any of it, as she watches her daughter skip happily into the school building before putting the car into drive. She glances at the doorway one last time to see Sophia now in the window beside the door, her daughter waves, the grin apparent across her face, and Carol feels her heart swell with the joy that only Sophia can give her.

She heads off down the street. There are quite a few things she still needs to get done this morning before she goes into work. She stops at the store and buys the supplies needed for Sophia's school project due the end of the week. She grabs a box of brownie mix that she'll make that evening for Sophia's snack day and a gallon of milk that she'll need to drop off at home before going to work.

She's about two miles from home on a two lane road that converges into one lane just ahead; she's content in the left lane, the cars in the right will merge behind her as there is no one at her side. A tractor trailer accelerates in the right lane and she glances into her rear-view mirror with the sound of it, sees the nose of the truck disappear out of sight as he pulls sidelong beside the quarter panel of her car. She steps on the accelerator to pull ahead, but before she can the tractor trailer is merging over into her lane, the nose of the truck portion connecting with her quarter panel, spinning her car sideways and she screams as she's suddenly perpendicular to the truck's nose. She slams on the brakes, turns the wheel but the tractor trailer is too powerful and somehow her car is wedged under its nose enough that she can't move; she can only hang on for the ride.

It pushes her along and then she hears the airbrakes as the driver finally goes to stop, and her car is suddenly flipping, rolling across the road and she's jostled about in her seat, her head hitting the roof at one point, everything going dark for a moment before she opens her eyes to see the car has come to a rest upside down in the middle of the road. A horn blows and Carol squeezes her eyes shut as she waits for impact. The car is sent spinning upside down like a beetle on its back, sliding across the road and finally coming to a stop on the grass on the other side. Carol feels her heart in her throat, she breathes, opens her eyes, tries to calm herself. She knows there is blood on her face, on the top of her head. Dimly she knows she can feel the stickiness of it but everything about her body feels numb.

The air is filled with sirens as an ambulance and fire truck arrive, two cop cars block traffic, and Carol is helped from the wreckage that is now her car by two firemen who keep asking if she is okay. What hurts? Can she move? Can she walk? How many fingers is he holding up? What is her name? Is there someone they should call?

She is leaned against the back of the ambulance, catching her breath, completely overwhelmed, answering their questions, debating if she should have them call Ed or not. He'll be furious, she knows this. She's totaled the car. There was another driver, the tractor trailer driver, but she's not sure where he is now. It won't matter, all that will matter is that the car is totaled and she was driving. She glances at her watch to check the time but the face of it is smashed, she must have hit it on something during the crash.

Is there someone they can call?

The question comes again and tears spring to Carol's eyes. She opens her mouth to speak…

"Carol!" She turns at the sound of her name being yelled and sees Daryl running along the grass towards the ambulance.

She gets up without thinking and suddenly she's moving towards him. Her movement is both rigid and shaky as tremors wrack her body. Everything about her protests as she moves but it's easily ignored, and then she's swept into his arms as he reaches her and her arms wrap around him holding him tightly as her legs give out from the stress of it and he supports her weight, his hand rubbing tight circles at her back.

He stays with her as the paramedics check her out thoroughly. They don't talk, and she's fleetingly reminded at one point about their last encounter – the kiss, her cowardly hideout in the bathroom. The whole disaster invades her mind as her eyes flicker to his lips, but he doesn't seem to notice; maybe he doesn't even remember.

They want to take her to the hospital to be certain that she's okay. Nothing seems broken, but she may have a concussion. Daryl says that he'll meet her there. He can't go in the ambulance; he'll need his car for later. She lies back on the gurney and stares at the ambulance ceiling as the sirens blare and they speed headlong for the hospital. She doesn't know what the fuss is all about; she's fine, there's no need for sirens or speeding or even hospitals at all. Ed will be furious, she remembers, Ed will be furious.

They take her right in, there's no waiting. It's a miracle she's alive, they say; but Carol knows better, she's had worse. A concussion, her body is bruised and she may have broken a rib but she refuses an x-ray. She knows what they'll see. She doesn't want them to see the remnants of breaks over the years, cracks and fractures, the blueprint of all her failings with Ed. Daryl stays throughout, tries to convince her that she should get the x-ray but doesn't fight when she looks at him pleadingly and says, "I just want to go home."

She calls a neighbor whose daughter is in school with Sophia and arranges someone to bring Sophia home at the end of the day. She calls work; she won't be in. Everyone is nice, kind, tells her to take it easy. A policewoman comes in and tells her that the other driver was arrested, but she only listens to half of what she's told. Carol sits on the hospital bed and hugs her knees to her chest, waiting for her discharge. She doesn't like the looks that people give her as they pass her room. She knows she looks horrible; her hair is a mess, her body aches, sparks of pain shoot through her chest with each breath. She just wants to go home.

Daryl drives her and she's quiet the whole ride. She stares at the clock, well aware that there are only thirty minutes until Ed comes home. She hopes he's on time; she wants him there before Sophia. She needs to deal with him first. She needs him to be calm by the time Sophia gets there. But at the same time, she hopes he's a few minutes late. She's cutting it close. She can't let Ed know that Daryl drove her home. She can't let Ed know anything. Her hand is trembling on her leg, her eyes fixated on the clock.

Daryl reaches over and covers her trembling hand with his own. His eyes don't leave the road; he doesn't speak. He just lays his hand over hers and she lets him, feels the warmth of him as her muscles and nerves relax just enough to stop the shaking. His hand stays there until he pulls up past the empty driveway to stop the car in front of her yard.

"It's going to be okay," he murmurs, his words both soothing and torturously untrue all at the same time. Carol squeezes her eyes closed to staunch the flow of tears that threaten to sneak their way out.

"Thank you," she says, but the words don't feel like enough.

She turns her hand over and slides her fingers in between his so that they are holding hands. She squeezes. She needs him to know how grateful she is, but she can't say it. He squeezes back. She doesn't look at him. She reaches for the door handle with her free hand, and he releases her grip at the same time that she does, watches her slide out of the car and move towards the front door. She feels his eyes on her the whole time, knows he's watching her as the key slides into the lock and she turns the doorknob to the front door. She doesn't look back until she hears the rumble of the engine as he pulls the car forward and away from the house.

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**A/N - I just wanted to add that the inspiration for this chapter came from an actual accident that I drove by a few days ago. I didn't see how the accident happened so I kind of guessed at that, but I did see the woman who was in the wreckage and her (I assume) boyfriend or husband or loved one rush to each other on the side of the road and embrace. It was actually a very sweet and poignant moment so I wanted to include it in this fic. Thanks for reading! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N – Okay, LopezG, so this probably wasn't what you were thinking when you asked for uplifting, but it's the best I can do at this point in the story. I'll write you a happy one-shot and post it today or tomorrow. :) **

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He would have left it alone. He had every intention of leaving it alone. Not necessarily because he didn't care – when it came to Carol, Daryl cared far more than anyone else thought he should – but because he had enough going on in his own life. Merle had strayed off his program again, it was obvious he was using by the way he had started acting more and more erratic with each passing day. Their father had just been released from a six month jail stint and he was about as angry and ravenous as a dog that hadn't been fed in a week.

They didn't have a good relationship, Daryl and his father, but they were family and Daryl took his responsibilities seriously, even if no one else seemed to. And by "no one", he definitely meant Merle. His brother wasn't the same when he was off his program. He was almost predictably unreliable, and he'd disappear for weeks on end. It reminded Daryl of a tomcat they once had when they were younger. The thing would take off and disappear for days while it impregnated all the girl cats it came across, and then it'd turn up looking like hell and stinking like piss. Merle was much the same at the end of one of his benders. Of course, they'd eventually neutered the cat and that'd put an end to that. Daryl didn't think he could do the same to his brother.

It was obvious that Carol needed help, but it was equally as obvious that she didn't seem to want it. Whatever the reason, Daryl didn't judge her for it. They all deal with the lot they're dealt. They do the best with what they have and they shut up about what they don't. He had every intention of leaving it alone, but that was until he ran into Sophia.

A month had passed since the accident when he'd last seen Carol. He was at the shopping mall of all places, on a search for Merle's latest dealer to find out where the hell Merle had stole off to this time. The guy was a real toolbag, this dealer, practically twelve from the looks of him although Daryl was sure the guy was at least as old as he was. The dealer had a habit of hanging out in one of the side corridors of the place, a long corridor with a cubby area that held the entrances to the bathrooms. Daryl was sure the guy would be camped outside the men's bathroom entrance, leaning back against the vending machines making lewd comments at the teenage girls as they came out of the women's bathroom on the other side.

He was halfway down the corridor when he got distracted, when the whole reason for his being there just up and flew out the window. He passed a group of girls trailing behind a woman, was two steps beyond them when her voice – hesitant and soft – stopped him.

"Mister… uhhh…. Daryl?"

He turned in his tracks to see Sophia, her hair shoulder length and blonde, her eyes too old for her young years.

"Sophia?," the woman who was clearly in charge of the group said, her tone was suspicious.

"It's alright, ma'am," Sophia said sweetly, turning to look at the woman, "he's a friend of my mom's."

Daryl nodded, somewhat dumbstruck by the whole thing and the woman seemed pacified. She gave him a sharp nod in return and said, her words aimed at Sophia, "we'll be right at the end of the hall, dear, but don't be long." And then her eyes caught Daryl's as she added, "I'll be watching."

Sophia looked back at him, smiled with half of her mouth and muttered, "girl scouts," as if that would explain everything.

Daryl scratched his head and looked at her, a softened scowl on his face, eyes somewhat narrowed with confusion. She smiled then, her face brightening.

"My mom said you were friends for a long time, Mister Daryl," Sophia was saying.

"Daryl, ain't no mister, just Daryl," he muttered interrupting her. Her mouth closed with an audible snap and she furrowed her little eyebrows together.

"My dad wouldn't like that," she said, her words soft as if she was speaking more to herself than to him, "if I called you just Daryl." The look on her face was wary, one that Daryl recognized as one he'd worn at times over the years that he'd been dealing with his own father. Daryl opened his mouth.

Sophia shook her head to herself then, before Daryl could speak, and she started to stammer and stumble her way through her thoughts, "my mom was s'posed to be here today, it's her day for girl scout troop, but her arm… well it got broke last night…"

"Wait, what?!," Daryl snapped and Sophia visibly flinched. She blinked at him and Daryl scowled but his expression was more at himself than her.

"My mom said…," she started to say…

"Sophia!," the woman at the end of the hall called out, "it's time to go." Her tone left no room for argument.

Sophia frowned, disappointment lining her features, and then she whispered, "you were friends, she said… we need your help Mist- I mean Daryl- my mom, she needs your help." She spun around and began hurrying down the hallway before Daryl could respond and he was left standing there watching her go, his heart pounding in his chest and the start of a headache beginning to creep up the back of his skull.

He didn't find Merle that day, although he did drive past the house he knew now was Carol's. There was no car in the driveway, but he hadn't expected there would be since he was sure her car had been totaled in the accident and it was unlikely that Ed would have bought her a new car already since then. The house looked dark though and uninhabited at the moment so he didn't stop, he just drove by, his head turned to peer at the building for too long to be considered safe while driving, but he didn't care.

That evening he paced around his living room while the rain pattered heavily and loudly onto the roof of his house. He was restless, his whole body coursed with it but his mind was even worse. He needed a plan. He needed to reach out to Carol, to go to her and tell her that she had to leave Ed. He'd protect her and Sophia. He'd figure out something. Daryl's head pounded but he couldn't stop himself from thinking at this point, there was no way to turn it off now.

He wished he could have gone to Merle with this. He wished Merle could get his shit together for three fucking minutes so that he even could go to Merle with this. He didn't even fucking know where Merle was. Daryl shook his head and gritted his teeth. Merle would have known what to do because he was Merle. There was no one that Daryl trusted more than his brother. They were tough as hell on each other, and knew exactly what buttons to push to make the other holler or bleed or beg for mercy, but at the end of the day or argument or whatever it was, none of that ever mattered. Family was family, and to Daryl, there'd never be a better brother than Merle even with all his faults.

His mind wandered from Carol for a moment to think about how important it was that he locate Merle soon. It'd been three weeks now since the last time he saw his brother and that was bordering on the longest bender that Daryl could remember in years. Maybe he could find him and enlist him into this Carol problem. Merle had always thought of Carol as a little sister, he'd want to pound the shit out of Ed just as much as Daryl did. He was racking his brain for places that Merle might be hiding when there was a knock on his door.

He didn't check the window, it was pouring out and he wouldn't have seen who was there anyway. The light on the porch didn't work; it'd been shot out by a neighbor kid with a BB gun almost two weeks ago. Daryl didn't glance at the clock on the wall, but if he had he'd have known it was nearly midnight, way too late for a visitor. Instead, he strode to the door purposefully in two strides and yanked the door open. A gust of wind blew in a mist of the now sideways rain outside and Daryl blinked back the droplets in his face before his eyes finally focused on the doorway to the porch.

Carol stood there huddled with Sophia. Carol's arm was casted up and hung at her side supported by a sling. Sophia was flush against her mother as if they were physically attached at the side, her head down. They were both soaked to the bone. He opened his mouth to speak as Sophia raised her head to meet his gaze and he saw the shiner below her left eye, a fresh blackish purple and obviously still swelling.

"I had nowhere else to go," Carol said as he looked at her, her eyes were bloodshot from crying, a gash on the side of her face was oozing blood, and her voice was raw and desperate.

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**A/N - Thank you for the reviews, everyone! They mean a lot! **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N – Just a warning for this chapter – there's some adult content but I've tried to keep it vague and nonspecific. If anyone strongly thinks I should change the rating from T to M, please let me know and I will do so. **

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The mug rattled slightly as she put it down on the table, a bit of coffee splashing out onto the worn tabletop. Her lips chattered and, although she certainly was cold, it wasn't the cold that was making her body shake so violently. Daryl stepped out of the hallway and paused hesitantly in the doorway to the kitchen that faced her. He raised an arm and rested it on the doorjamb. He looked weary and Carol felt the weight of her decision to come here, to involve him.

"I set 'er up in my room," Daryl said, tilting his head back slightly in the direction of where he'd taken Sophia.

"You don't need to do that," Carol muttered softly, glancing down at her trembling hands, "we can sleep on the floor, it's just fine."

"Ain't fine, Carol," Daryl said, his tone slightly chastising, "it ain't fine at all, now is it?"

She was afraid to raise her head, to meet his eyes. She stared at her hands, the blood on them dried now from when she'd wiped at the gash on her face on the way over. She squeezed her eyes shut then to staunch the tears that were threatening to flow. _A mess, everything is such a mess._

She didn't hear Daryl move forward, but she felt him crouch down in front of her, felt his fingers, calloused but warm, on the curve of her jaw, felt him gently lift her chin and she opened her blurry, wet eyes to look into his.

"This ain't yer fault, sweetie… none of it is… you and Sophia, yer safe now. Yer with me." His voice was low and his eyes were earnest, and Carol wanted so desperately to believe.

_You were right the first time… It's not fine, it'll never be fine. We'll never be safe. Ed'll find us; I just know he will. You can't protect us; no one can. He won't stop 'til I'm dead. I did this, staying with that son-of-a-bitch all this time. I put Sophia in danger. I did this. I deserved this. He'll find me. He'll find us. And I'm dead as soon as he does. _

But she didn't say any of that. Instead, she forced a thin smile and a small nod. "Thank you," she whispered meekly.

His fingers still linger at her chin and Carol flushes suddenly as she realizes it. Something passes through Daryl's eyes as he watches her, as their eyes hold and he searches hers for something – for what, she doesn't know. He leans forward and she knows he is going to kiss her, she feels it even as her stomach flips nervously and her heart speeds up at the thought of it. She closes her eyes and breathes with heady anticipation.

She feels his breath fall upon her face, just before his lips graze her own, and her hand, steady and calm now, is abruptly on his chest – not pushing, but enough of a touch that it stills him. She opens her eyes and looks into his face, now barely an inch apart from hers.

"I've made a mess of things," she says softly, "and…," she pauses before swallowing thickly, "I think I should go check on Sophia."

Daryl's eyes are sad as he pulls back from her. The removal of his fingers from her face makes her suddenly feel cold and the trembling starts up again. He gives her a slight nod as she stands, and as she moves down the hallway she hears him speak softly after her.

"Bandages in the bathroom for yer face, ya best clean yerself up."

It's just after 3:00 a.m. when Carol realizes that sleep is not going to come. She rises cautiously off the bed so as not to wake Sophia. The girl stirs slightly and rolls over as Carol opens the bedroom door with a creak. Carol glances back at her daughter from the hallway before closing the door. _Only eleven and already the weight of the world rests heavy on her shoulders. It's my fault… my fault, my fault. _

The words are still echoing in her mind as she moves lightly down the hallway, through the kitchen, pausing in the next doorway that links the kitchen to the living room. Daryl lays on the couch at the back of the room, his feet aimed at where she stands, his eyes open.

"You're awake," she says quietly, entering the room and moving towards him.

He pushes himself up, swings his legs so that he can make room for her on the couch, but she doesn't move to sit. She reaches him in just a few steps and then she's descending on him without a conscious thought. Her lips find his with a fervor that she didn't know even existed at the moment as she moves to straddle him on the couch. Daryl's arms come up and around her almost unconsciously, reactively, his body arching into the kiss, his tongue searching out her own in a tangle of lips and heat and limbs.

"Wait," he pants, pulling back suddenly, forcing her to break the kiss.

"No," she responds, "I can't wait." He hesitates and she can't bear the thought of the hesitation, she can't bear the thought of anything right now except for skin on skin, flesh on flesh. "Please," she breathes desperately and his lips are on hers again before she gets the full word out.

They don't falter again, as their bodies mesh and entangle on Daryl's ratty couch, the raindrops heavy again on the roof masking the sounds of their coupling. Carol's soft moans; Daryl's grunts of exertion.

They don't think about the fact that this is technically the first time they've been together in this way. They don't think about the fact that Carol is a woman with a daughter who has only just this evening left her abusive husband. They don't think about the fact that this has disaster written all over it. Instead, Carol focuses on the feeling of Daryl moving against her, of him bringing her to ecstasy over and over beneath his hands and his mouth and his body. And Daryl focuses on committing to memory every moment with Carol, the smile on her face and the way her eyes shine before he comes back up to kiss her, the way her eyes flutter open and closed as her body envelopes him, the feel of her hands scraping down his back, the feel of her lips sweet and crushing against his own.

They don't think; they only feel.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N – You're not going to like this… but please, please bear with me. There's a plan here, and I'm still trying to keep this story on schedule so that it fits with the start of TWD Season 1. Sophia's 11 now, so we're really, really close… Thank you for the reviews! They mean so much and they totally made my day yesterday! I haven't started the next chapter yet, so I may not get to update until next week sometime.**

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He wakes to a sore back, an empty house, and a hastily scribbled two word note on the counter – _I'm sorry_, it says. And a part of him hates her for it.

It is the longest hour of his life, sitting at the table, note in hand, staring at those two words as if they could perhaps explain it all away. As if those two simple words mean something more than what they say.

A small part of Daryl wonders if this is some sort of revenge, for hurting her when they were kids. A larger part of him knows better, but he can't seem to shut the doubtful angry part of himself up. It taunts him, laughs in his face with that stupid fucking note. The words blur on the page and he realizes that somehow, completely unbidden, tears have made an appearance in his eyes. He drops the note like it scalds him, scrubs at his eyes wildly with the back of his hands, pushes himself up from the table and paces like an animal around the room.

He's been broken before. He's endured so much worse than what this is; what he feels in this moment, he's felt so much worse at one point or another during his life. And yet somehow, this is the moment he feels like his chest is ripped open, this is the moment it feels like his heart has spilled out on the floor, and it lays bleeding and writhing uselessly before him. He can feel the anger and the adrenaline as it courses through him, it swells, giving him strength, purpose in his anger, replaces his pain with rage. He punches the wall until his hands are bloody and chunks of drywall and plaster litter the floor. He doesn't feel better, but he stops caring. He stares at the damage, the holes he's created, the wall that he's ruined, and he forces himself to hate her, forces himself to replace everything he knew so completely in his heart last night with something else.

His eyes are wet again, the damaged wall blurred before him, and he swipes at his eyes with ferocity, smears blood on his face as he tries to remove the offending wetness. It's better, the blood. He understands it so much better than the tears. He shakes his head, cusses at his own stupidity. He was foolish… a fucking fool… a goddamn shit-for-brains idiot. It's what Merle would call him… if he were here.

Daryl grabs for his coat suddenly, ignoring the blood on his hands, the remnants of blood still drying on his face, and storms out.

He finds his brother holed up in a shithole squatter apartment almost fifty miles away. It took two dealers and a prostitute for Daryl to trace him there, and Merle's laughing on the floor like an asshole the moment Daryl walks in.

"Knew ya'd find me, Darylina… took ya longer than a goose egg takes to hatch! The fuck were ya doin'? Snatchin' cat 'stead a chasin' yer dear old brother?" Merle is slurring and sloppy as he struggles to his feet, lurching awkwardly before righting himself and moving to embrace Daryl in a too tight grip. Daryl sneers angrily, and it's then that Merle sees the dried-up blood.

"The hell happen' to ya, lil brother?," Merle says, stepping back with a wobble and a grimace.

"Don't matter, Merle, get yer shit, yer comin' home." There's no room for argument in Daryl's tone, but it still takes three hours for him to get Merle packed into the car – and just Merle at that because his brother's bag of clothes stunk so bad Daryl refused to even take them.

They're halfway home when Merle starts to snore, and Daryl takes a turn that he knows he shouldn't take. He shouldn't drive by Carol's house. He knows this, but he doesn't turn the car around. He tells himself that he just needs to know she's alright, that Sophia's alright. He lies to himself that he's not going to stop; he'll just drive right on by.

She'd changed her mind… whatever her reasons –and he was confident that they were some shitty ass reasons – she'd changed her mind. He still wanted to hate her, but worry churned his gut, spun his mind in circles as he thought about her lips on his, his hand resting on the curve of her hip, his other hand entwined with hers, fingers teasing before they'd fallen asleep. He thought of the gash on her face, the haunting sadness behind her eyes, her broken arm that he had almost forgotten was broken as she'd sought him out with such insatiable need the night before.

_I'll just drive by._

Ed's on the porch. He's sitting on the top step, cleaning a shotgun, and it doesn't even register to Daryl that he's stepping on the brake until the vehicle has come to a full stop.

"The fuck you do to 'er, Ed?," Daryl hollers as he is out of the vehicle and rounding it towards the front lawn, "the fuck you do!"

Ed's up in a flash and moving towards him, the gun left and all but forgotten on the step behind him, and it's right before they're about to come to blows that Merle is suddenly there, grabbing Daryl and pulling him back, moving to stand in between them. Merle's palm stops Ed from moving forward and the man eyes Merle nervously – because no one fucks with Merle Dixon – before glancing stubbornly back to Daryl.

"Where's my wife, ya two bit piece of shit redneck?," Ed sneers.

"He don't know nothin' bout yer wife… and who ya think yer callin' a piece a shit redneck? Don't think I don't know yer neck ain't as red as ours, Eddy-ole-boy," Merle snaps back before Daryl can even for the words to respond.

How Merle is even standing right now, how he's even able to be so quick about all this given the condition he was just in? Daryl doesn't have a clue. He's stuck on Ed's words. _Where's my wife? Where's your wife? What, you don't know? He doesn't know? He doesn't know! _He opens his mouth to speak but Merle slaps a hand over it and mutters, "shut yer trap, sugarlips, or I'll shut it for ya," and Daryl lets Merle drag him back to the car, lets his brother holler back another insult at Ed as he gets in and then they're speeding off again towards home, this time with Merle driving and Daryl sulking at the window.

Neither of them speak until they're in the driveway, and then they look at each other and there is a knowing glint to Merle's eye that frightens Daryl just a little bit.

"Care to clue yer big brother in on what the fuck that was 'bout, Darylina?"


	9. Chapter 9

There are mistakes a person makes in their life that they'd give anything to take back. And there are mistakes a person makes that they wouldn't undo for anything. Carol had managed to do both in one night.

Being with Daryl had been amazing… better than anything she could ever believe she deserved. She wouldn't change those hours of bliss for anything, she wouldn't erase those memories for all the money in the world. It's always a mistake to cheat, she supposes, regardless of the state of a marriage, but it was a mistake that Carol would never regret.

And then… the other mistake, the mistake she'd give anything to take back, anything to turn back the clock and do it over. Disappearing with Sophia out of Daryl's house without a word. The thought of it had been unthinkable… the stupidest thing, an unbelievable impulse, a mistake built upon a mountain of mistakes. Except it wasn't, it isn't; and she knows she can't turn back now, she can't redo it. Even if she could, she knows she wouldn't. Carol has lived all these years traveling the path of least resistance, choosing the easy choice. Staying with Ed when she'd known for years that she should have gotten out… running to Daryl when she'd finally decided to leave simply because she knew he'd drop everything for her. Acting on her desires for Daryl when she had only hours before left Ed. They were easy choices – selfish choices – and it was time that Carol made some difficult ones instead.

She couldn't go home; she wouldn't go home. She promised herself, and she promised Sophia… they'd never go back there; they'd never go back to Ed. Her parents weren't an option; she didn't have a ton of friends, Ed always made sure of that much. It was Sophia's idea to go to the school, to talk to the guidance counselor there and find out what options Carol had.

Eight hours later, after an incredibly long day, Sophia was asleep on a cot in a battered women's shelter while Carol sat a few feet away with a pen and paper writing in the dark.

"You's can turn on a lamp, sweetie," another woman at the shelter whispered, catching Carol's attention. The woman was lying on a cot, a bruise over her left eye, a tiny boy nestled into her side and fast asleep.

Carol grimaced apologetically in the dark, "I'm so sorry… did I wake you?"

The woman shook her head, careful not to move her body and stir the boy. "Nah, but you's should get yourself under a light, they say we shouldn't read in the dark, sure as hell don't think you should be writin' in it neither." The woman tipped her head to the side slightly, looking pointedly at a table with a few small battery-operated lamps on it.

Carol thanked the woman, retrieved a lamp for herself and started writing again.

_Dearest Daryl,_

_Dear Daryl,_

_My Daryl,_

_I'm sorry._

_This is stupid._

_I can't tell you how badly I feel._

_I love you._

Carol groans to herself. She doesn't know why this is so difficult. She scratches out the previous openings and starts again.

_Daryl,_

_There is so much more I wanted to say to you than 'I'm sorry'. There's a lifetime of things I wish I could say to you. _

_From the moment we met as kids, I knew you were special. I knew you were a truly good man. And I think I've loved you ever since. Even when you broke my heart, even when I moved on and was with Ed, I think a part of me always loved you. _

_I was scared when I left Ed. It wasn't because he'd beaten me; sadly, I've grown almost used to that. It was because the first place I wanted to go was to you. I went to you. There wasn't any other place to go in my mind. Do you know how silly that seems to me? We hardly know each other beyond a few chance encounters over the last few years. We dated for a month when we were barely adults, nearly two decades ago. I don't even know your middle name, Daryl Dixon. And you don't even know mine. _

_I shouldn't have come to you last night. I involved you in something that I had no business dragging you into. And for what… I don't even know how to write this, this next part… _

_Love… I dragged you into it because I love you. No… I'm an idiot. I don't even know what love is anymore. _Carol sighs exaggeratedly and cusses at herself under her breath before scratching out the paragraph and continuing on.

_I'm staring at the paper right now, Daryl, and my eyes are blurry and my whole body just feels so darn weak. I feel useless, and ridiculous, and so incredibly pathetic I don't even know what to do with myself. I'm tired. So tired of being myself, of being the woman that I've become after all these years. _

_I wish my life was different sometimes. For years I've wondered 'what if'. What if you hadn't broken up with me all those years ago? Or what if I'd dumped Ed way back when things started to feel broken? Would I have ended up with you? Would you have wanted me? _

_But what if… what if anything else but what happened happened – would I still have Sophia? Would I have different babies… your babies? Someone else's babies? How different would everything be? _

_And then I realize, I wouldn't trade Sophia for anything. I couldn't trade Sophia for anything… not even for you. She's my life now. She's the only good thing I've ever done, the only pure and truly decent thing. _

_You're angry, I'm sure. Believe it or not, I can feel it in my bones how mad you must be. You're not mad at me though, are you? You're mad at yourself. __I know you better than you think Daryl. We hardly know each other but I still know you. That doesn't even make any sense, does it. __The years have taught me something even with only brief meetings between us. _

_You're angry at yourself. Don't be. Please. Be angry at me if you have to be angry at someone. _

_You're angry that you couldn't protect me. Well, you could have Daryl. Of course you'd have protected me. Me and Sophia. I know you'd have protected us. But I'm not your responsibility and neither is Sophia – she isn't yours, even though I wish she were – and I shouldn't have imposed any of this on you. You have enough going on between your brother and your father. I knew that, you know; I knew about what you've been dealing with and I still went to your house anyway. __You probably wonder how I could know… how I knew… it doesn't matter. Really, it doesn't._

_You're angry because you're hurt. And you're hurt because you feel something for me. It's presumptuous for me to write that, but I saw your eyes last night. I saw the way you looked at me, and believe me – I was looking at you too. I felt it just as much as you did. And I left anyway. I didn't leave to hurt you. I left because I felt it, and because you deserve better. _

_I'm a shell of a woman. I am broken beyond repair. And you deserve better…_

A droplet of salty wetness hits the page and it blurs the word "better" and Carol stares at it. There's more she could write. There's more she wishes to say. But instead she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, the hand holding the pen trembling slightly. She lets the pen fall to her lap and grabs the paper with both hands, ripping and crumpling it before she throws it to the floor.

The words come too easy… but the cold truth of her life, of her regrets, of her pain hits too hard.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N - Hello everyone! I'm finally getting some writing done. And boy am I glad that all my WIPs for TWD are AU. I don't know if I could handle a canon story right now. I give all the fanfic writers who are writing Caryl in the Season 4 universe right now some major credit. You all rock!**

**Anyway, this story is quickly drawing to a close and a resolution... bear with me. And thank you for the reviews!**

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Life moves on because it has to, and Daryl stops looking for Carol around every bend in the road. It pains him to do it, to let it go, to force himself to forget, but he does it all the same. It helps having Merle back. Merle who scowls and tells him to "quite pussyin' 'round," when Daryl gets too quiet. Daryl is pretty sure Merle is still using, but he hasn't disappeared in over two weeks, and to Daryl, right now, that's enough.

It's late on a Saturday night, running up on closing time in fact, when Daryl slams a pretty redhead's back against the dive bar's bathroom wall, and he lets her kiss him, lets her push her body against his like it's the only thing he wants to do, like this is the only place he wants to be. It isn't, and his mind is only half there even as she undoes his belt and slides her body down his until she's on her knees on the dirty, sticky floor before him. Her eyes are wide, ocean blue, and they stare at him like he's the answer to her prayers.

He hates himself, hates doing it even as he does it, even as he goes through the motions because, frankly, he just doesn't want to look at the pain on her face if he pushes her away. Merle will be happy. Merle, who has been squawking all week about Daryl needing to "git some". Merle, who sent the little redhead over in Daryl's direction with a wink and a nod, before rubbing his nose and heading off to snort something. There's a pit of rawness in Daryl's stomach, and it churns and burns as he kisses the girl on her mouth afterward, as he swallows the bitter taste, the cigarette stench, and the cheap flowery perfume.

_This ain't me_.

But it doesn't matter. He looks himself square in the eye in the tar-stained bathroom mirror when they're done. He notes the hickey the girl placed on his neck and he resists the urge to vomit knowing that she's out in the barroom now, probably waiting on him to come out. He'll take her home probably. Because it's what he should do, and it's what Merle will expect.

She leaves early the next morning, and the burning in Daryl's chest dissipates slightly even as his urge to vomit is renewed. Merle razzes him, calls the girl a pretty piece of ass, and then heads off to take a shower. Daryl sinks down onto the couch, puts his head in his hands, and tries to remember how he did this for all those years before that one night. Before Carol.

He lays back on the couch, mimicking the way he would have looked that night. In the back of his mind he knows he shouldn't wallow, knows he shouldn't go there, but he ignores it. He needs five minutes, five minutes to remember. Five minutes to remember and a lifetime to forget.

"The fuck ya doin', Darylina?," Merle mumbles as he passes by the doorway to the living room into the kitchen. There's a toothbrush hanging out of Merle's mouth and a dark scowl of dissatisfaction that reaches all the way to his eyes.

Daryl doesn't respond, instead he turns slightly, slings one arm over his eyes and tries to ignore the footsteps as Merle walks into the room, settles down on the end of the couch.

"She ain't fuckin' worth it," Merle says softly and the words are almost more than Daryl can handle.

"The fuck you know about it," Daryl snaps, sitting up abruptly and glaring at his brother. "And don't say shit like that… ya know 'er, ya know Carol, ain't a thing that girl didn't do for yer worthless ass when we was kids."

Merle shakes his head, points the toothbrush in his hand at Daryl, and shakes it again. He uses the back of his other hand to wipe the toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. "Ya know that ain't what I meant." He pauses, shakes his head to himself again before continuing, "I love Carol, ya know tha', we got history, all of us. I don't love 'er like you do, clearly li'l brother, but yer lettin' this destroy ya, yer lettin' the thought of her, this woman tha' didn't even stick 'round, tha' up and left ya, yer lettin' her memory destroy ya. And tha'… well that ain't worth it." It's more words than Merle usually strings together in a sentence, and a part of it rings true. A part of it nags at Daryl's mind for just a moment before he shakes it off, before he dismisses it, the memory of Carol's lips on his replacing the bitterness of the knowledge that she'd left.

Daryl swings his legs around off the couch in answer, sits up and puts his head back in his hands so that he doesn't have to look at Merle.

"I left 'er first," he mutters quietly.

"_Just talk to me, Daryl," she pleads, her voice soft and earnest. He bites deep into his sandwich so he doesn't have to answer, avoids her gaze across the table, and scowls even as he chews. He should just say it. He should just tell her. But he's a pussy, a coward, a backwards piece of shit who just can't make himself say the words. _

"_Daryl," Carol insists. She swallows and he can almost feel the moment happening before it happens. It's like he's outside of his body, hovering above the table watching it take place. "Is it too fast? Are we going too fast? Do you want to slow down? It's okay… really, it is… we can… we can slow it down." Her words are hesitant, bordering on shaky and bells go off in his head that this is his moment. He should say no, he should say nah, he should laugh it off. This is Carol… this is the girl he's been mooning over for years. _

_It's been only a couple weeks, hot and heavy but still more innocent than any other relationship he's even known. They're young, he's young, still practically kids… she invades him, she knows him, and he feels it in every fiber of himself with every kiss, every touch. Like she reaches down into his soul when she touches him, like she can see every bad choice, every stupid mistake, bared out in all its heinous glory. He's raw from it, tortured with the knowledge that he can't hide from her, that a part of him doesn't even want to hide. He's wanted this girl forever, and right now, right here she's his. _

_The chewed-up food in his mouth is a lump he struggles to swallow, but he forces it down, raises his gaze and meets her eyes. They're calm as ever, honest and sweet, and she's everything he wants and everything he fears all rolled up into one. _

"_Yea," he says slowly, hoarsely, "it's too fast." _

_Something passes across her eyes but it's so fast he barely catches it, dismisses it without even thinking, forces himself not to feel, not to think. She's steely-eyed, her gaze still and steady, and she nods. It's matter-of-fact; it's Carol. _

"_Well, alright then," she murmurs, "it's okay, Daryl. We can just… we can just be friends for now. See where it goes." _

_He nods, he agrees. There's a pit in his stomach, the food in his mouth is tasteless as he takes another bite and chews. He doesn't take it back. He tells her they'll be friends. He lies. _

_A week later as he ignores the buzzing of his phone when Carol's name comes up on the display for the skinny blonde on his lap, he tells himself that he's better off, that they're both better off. He lies. _

_A year later watching her sit at a picnic table with Ed, he thinks to himself that he's better off, that's she's better off, and he mutters threats about Ed as he takes another pull at his beer. He tells himself it doesn't matter. He lies. _

He tells himself he doesn't need to find her. He tells himself it doesn't matter that she left; it doesn't matter where she went. And still he lies.


End file.
